


A bothersome fortuity

by lillaseptember



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Lives, Dark Abigail, Gen, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Happy Murder Family, I Don't Even Know, Murder Family, a lot of staring and a lot of smiling, at least it was SUPPOSED to be a short drabble, i don't know when to shut up, parental hannibal lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillaseptember/pseuds/lillaseptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, dads. I'm just calling to let you know that I'll be in a little late tonight. Don't worry, I'm just heading over to Chelsea to watch a movie, but it'll be a few hours. I'll see you later. Love you, bye!"</p><p>The cellphone almost slipped out of her shaking hand, the blood dripping from it glinting black in the moonlight.</p><hr/><p>A short drabble about one of Abigail's first independent kills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A bothersome fortuity

"Hey, dads. I'm just calling to let you know that I'll be in a little late tonight. Don't worry, I'm just heading over to Chelsea to watch a movie, but it'll be a few hours. I'll see you later. Love you, bye!"

The cellphone almost slipped out of her shaking hand, the blood dripping from it glinting black in the moonlight.

* * *

Abigail watched the blood slithering in tendrils down her pale body. In the soft glow of the bathroom light, it took on an almost sanguine shade. Trying to steady her frantic heartbeat, she watched it pool by her feet in the bathtub.

She had not intended for her night to end in a bloodbath. She had not wished to spend over an hour trying to scrub the coppery scent out of her hair. But thinking back on the way the blood had slowly sunk all the way down to her cuticles, the way the pulse had slowly faded beneath her fingertips, the way her hands had not started shaking until the aftershocks of the adrenaline rush had settled in, she couldn't help but feel glad that it had.

She had suppressed this urge for far too long now.

But trying to untangle her mess of a hair, watching her fingers stain crimson again, she almost wished that the opportunity had never presented itself.

_What a bothersome fortuity._

She had just scrubbed her fingernail clean when the door to her own, private bathroom creaked open. Almost slipping on the glassy porcelain, she threw her head out from behind the shower curtain, baring her teeth against the intruder.

"Dad!"

Dropping her shoulders, but remaining somewhat tense as the shower head continued spluttering water across her back, she met the cool gaze of Hannibal. He may have been the master of the house, but it was _her_ bathroom, and she held it levelly. 

"What happened?"

Hannibal's gaze traveled to the still somewhat oozing cut in her forehead, his posture staying as perfectly collected as ever. He tilted his head softly to one side as he waited for Abigail's answer, Abigail setting her jaw against the lie that was about to be ushered through it.

"I fell. From my bike. As I rode home from Chelsea."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed just slightly, and Abigail felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with he fact that the shower curtain was the only thing covering her.

"Then do you care to explain why your shirt is drenched in blood?"

He held up the ruined article of clothing, a once beautiful emerald cashmere shirt, now soaked in the metallic fragrance of the slowly drying blood that was obviously not her own. Averting her gaze from Hannibal's, it flicked down to her stomach, realizing there was no way she would be able to lie her way out of this, and she released the fists her hands had slowly curled into.

"Fine." Biting off the adverb, she met Hannibal's gaze again, just the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "May I finish my shower first?"

"Of course, dear."

And just as abruptly as he had appeared, he disappeared.

* * *

Toweling her hair somewhat dry, she looked at herself in the softly fogged up mirror. Her eyes still held that slightly wild glint, and she could still feel the remains of adrenaline in her system. Of how the blood had skittered across her skin.

Bringing the towel up to her face again, she rubbed it dry one last time. Securing the bathrobe more snugly against her hips, she inhaled deeply before moving out into her bedroom.

Hannibal was seated at the foot of her bed, one leg crossed idly over the other. He was wearing an apron, apparently occupying himself with some late night cooking while Will was out of the house.

They had moved into the little cape cod cottage a few months ago, by Will's pick. Hannibal had originally scoffed at the choice, the simple cottage nowhere near his extravagant taste. But Abigail had seen his attitude slowly soften as they had eventually settled into their new housing. He would spend the evenings reading by the brick fireplace, watching Will as he tinkered with his rods and Abigail as she did her homework, usually sprawled out all across the living room floor. She had watched Hannibal slowly falling in love with the creaking floorboards and hand carved frames of the small cottage, but if it was because of the house's own charm or simply the fact that it was the place Will had chosen for them to live in, she was not sure.

Abigail liked the cottage. It was a nice change to get out of the city for once, the musty atmosphere of the ungainly wood bringing a sense of familiarity and comfort that the flawlessness of the stainless steel and smooth marble never could. Not to mention that she had managed to end up as far away from her parents bedroom as possible. Nothing could beat the nightmare that had been the penthouse in Chicago.

They had settled into a unperturbed life in the cottage. And it was the first place that Abigail had been comfortable calling home in a really long time.

"Where's the body?"

Hannibal's indifferent inquiry snapped her out of her reverie, and her eyes flicked away from where they had drifted off to the willow slowly swaying outside of her bedroom window, settling on Hannibal again. He looked as composed as he always did, not a single one of his slowly graying hairs our of place, his eyebrows slightly raised in mild curiosity as his facial expression otherwise held a perfectly casual air, as if catching your teenage daughter sneaking in through the backdoor completely covered in someone else's blood was a commonplace occurrence.

Which, in Hannibal's mind, it might as well was.

So dropping all belief of being able to get away with a prevarication, she simply settled on telling the truth.

"I chopped it up. Buried the pieces a good way over a mile away from each other. Burned the ones with my fingerprints on them." Searching for any hint of reaction in Hannibal's eyes, she was vaguely disappointed. "Should take the cops a good few years to find them all."

"No trophy?"

"It's in my backpack."

Nodding in the direction to where she had just flung it off before heading to shower, Hannibal rose swiftly and crossed the room to retrieve it. Opening up the main flap of the bag, his eyebrows rose high in surprise. Carefully reaching into the bag, he grabbed a gentle hold of it and held it up to be inspected in the dim light of her bedroom.

"The brain."

For a while they just stood there, admiring the intricate pattern of the cerebral cortex, the dwindling canyons and mazes that had once held the very essence of life. Until Hannibal's eyes flicked up to Abigail again, and she could feel her cheeks starting to heat up.

"He tried to outwit me," she finally stated, a small smile prying her lips. "He followed me off the bus. Stalked me across town. Tried to ambush me in one of the darker alleys." Grinning fully at the memory now, she looked Hannibal dead in the eye. "To say he was dumbfounded when I gutted him would be an understatement."

Hannibal still held his air of indifference, carefully placing the organ on Abigail's desk.

"He probably thought it was an assault alarm. Or a pepper spray." Seeking Hannibal's gaze again, she smiled ruefully at him. "You should have seen the look on his face."

Hannibal's lips didn't even so much as twitch, and he sat down at the foot of her bed again. He crossed his ankles, and looked up at Abigail with that cool gaze of his. She shuffled uncomfortably under it, feeling like a small child again, but tried to hold her chin high as he inspected her.

"So you were not at Chelsea's tonight."

It was a a statement and not a question, but his eyes held the glint of inquiry, and Abigail swallowed dryly before confirming.

"No."

His eyes narrowed inappreciably again, and Abigail saw the flash of betrayal behind them, saw the way his posture changed as he softly reminded her of his role as the apex predator. Abigail might have been his cub, been a part of his pack, but Hannibal would forever stay at the top of the chain. He had allowed her into his life, had allowed her to get close to him, had placed a great deal of trust in her, and the price of that trust was very, _very_ high. She had always been well aware of that.

"I wish you would not lie to me, Abigail."

"I just didn't want you to freak out." Suddenly feeling so very tired, her bones mellowing within her, she wished she could just lay down on the bed next to him. She spoke the truth. She had neither planed nor intended for the kill to happen that night, she had just grabbed a happenstance as it had crossed her path, and she hadn't wanted to make a big fuss out of it. Because Hannibal would have celebrated, Will would have fussed, and both of them would have interrogated her long into the early hours of the morning.

_Was she certain that she had disposed of all the body parts? And that she had burned the fingerprints? Disposed of any eyewitnesses? Covered her tracks? Absolutely certain? And how did the blood slipping through her fingers feel like all hot and vivid?_

And all she had wanted to do was scrub herself clean of the blood and go to sleep, waking up to the sweet smell of pancakes in the morning, keeping the violent and thrilling memories all to herself.

Her own little secret.

"And I _handled_ it."

Hannibal tilted his head as he inspected her again, and Abigail managed not to twitch under his gaze.

"It appears that you did."

A moment of silence stretched between them.

"Are you mad at me?" She finally dared to ask, her eyes steady on his, even though her voice wobbled slightly.

For the first time that night, the corner of Hannibal's eyes suddenly quirked, and the areas around his eyes crinkled.

"I am proud of you." Bracing his hands against his knees, he stood up slowly, and then crossed the small distance between them in order to gently clutch her shoulders. "I believe every father fret over whether or not they should allow their daughters to take care of themselves on dark nights." Gently petting her still damp hair, he smiled broadly down at her. "And you just proved you are more than capable of taking care of yourself."

Her eyebrows rising in surprise, she couldn't stop the soft scoff that escaped her.

"I should not need your permission though."

Chuckling lowly, Hannibal reached down to inspect the small cut across the back of her left hand.

"I suppose you wouldn't," he mumbled as his thumb darted across the already healing wound. "An idea would be to not tell your father, though. He _would_ worry so. And dismember any male that would ever dare to even so much as lay an eye on you."

"Yeah." Abigail smiled at the thought, but agreed that this should probably stay as another one of her and Hannibal's secrets.

Quickly inspecting the gash across her forehead, Hannibal soon proclaimed that she would live without any major impairments. Unhanding her, he stepped back a few steps, and allowed his eyes to trail to the brain slowly withering away on Abigail's desk.

"Any thoughts of what to do with the trophy? Do you want to preserve or prepare it?"

"Why are you asking?" Slowly smiling as she saw Hannibal mentally walking through the recipe of his reputable _cervelle de veau_ , Abigail could already feel the flavors rising on her tongue. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

But Hannibal just grinned at her.

"Oh no. It is not your responsibility to put food on our table. And I would not want to appropriate your first trophy. You preserve it however you see most fit."

Abigail's gaze traveled to settle on the slimy organ again, and she allowed her imagination to run wild for a few moments.

But Hannibal's voice brought her back to reality again.

"Well, Will should be home any minute now."

His eyes flicking from the wooden clock that was slowly ticking away in Abigail's room to the dimly lit driveway just below her window, she could see the anticipation slowly building within him.

It was currently Will's turn to provide the food for their table.

Two kills in one night.

Which meant that it was time to move soon.

The realization settled heavy on Abigail. She really did enjoy the cabin that they had rooted themselves so snugly in. But she was also aware that the entire point of their lifestyle was based on them constantly being on the move.

Never truly settling anywhere.

"I'll let you finish cleaning up."

Briefly pressing his lips to her forehead, he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Abigail had drifted off to someplace else again. He was already halfway out through the door as Abigail caught up with time again, himself being completely swept up in the prospects of what his beloved husband would bring home.

They had tamed the beast, together, she and Will. It still surprised her at times, the amount of adoration he showered them both with. Abigail had never thought a beast would be capable of such affection.

But then again, they all had little pieces of the beast within them, didn't they?

Hannibal was just about to step a foot on the staircase when the thought struck her.

"Dad?" Turning around in the door frame, Abigail tried not to sound too sheepish as he faced her again. "Do you think you would be able to take care of my clothes?"

His whole face softened by the smile he offered her, shadows slowly dancing in his eyes by the moonlight that trickled in through her window. 

"It is already handled, my dear."

"Thank you." The gratitude was sincere, and she could feel her chest warming with the swell of affection that was rising in it. 

"For you, darling, anything."

And with one last smile, he headed down the stairs.

Abigail stayed by her spot standing in the middle of the bedroom, listening to the sound of Will's pickup truck slowly pulling up on the driveway, the motion of him making his way into the cottage, Hannibal delightedly greeting him. They had a good life here. Unperturbed. Peaceful even.

But no one could tell what adventures awaited them in their life after this.

She turned slowly to face the craniumless brain on her desk again.

_A bothersome fortuity indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME KIDS.
> 
> You have every right to defend yourself in any way possible against any creep that tries to attack you, but cold blooded murder is a little overkill. (Literally)


End file.
